


For Office Use Only

by fatal_drum



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A Leitner Made Them Do It, Bondage, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dehumanization, Double Penetration, F/M, M/M, Marking, Mind Control, Omorashi, Public Use, Spanking, Trans Martin Blackwood, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-23 00:31:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23269489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatal_drum/pseuds/fatal_drum
Summary: An encounter with a Leitner leaves the Archives staff convinced Martin is their personal stress toy. Martin's not sure he can take much more.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Elias Bouchard, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Sasha James, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 48
Kudos: 385





	For Office Use Only

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the lovely [cuttooth](https://cuttoothed.tumblr.com/) for betaing this monstrosity, and to [TK](https://twitter.com/charmophron69) for inspiring the Martin/Elias scene.

It’s a normal morning in the Archives. Tim is researching leads on his laptop, poring over a victim’s credit card statements. Across the room, Sasha is reading a thick tome on the history of Eastern European dolls. And Martin is in his corner, kneeling with his wrists and ankles bound behind him. 

Tim yawns and stretches, noticing the pressure that’s been building in his bladder for the past hour or so. “I need to piss,” he says to no one in particular. 

“Urinal’s right there,” Sasha remarks, not bothering to look up. 

“Right,” Tim chuckles. “Almost forgot.” 

Smiling, he rises to his feet and approaches Martin’s corner. They’ve made it nice and comfortable, with a soft cushion for his knees, and a little sign that reads OFFICE USE. Tim unbuckles his belt and pulls his cock out, whistling under his breath. 

Martin flinches, cringing as far into the corner as he can get. “Tim, _please—”_

“Shush, now, Martin,” Tim chides. “Stop the backtalk and open up.” 

Before Martin can argue, Tim grabs hold of his hair and guides his cock between his lips. Martin likes to play hard-to-get, but Tim knows what he needs. They _all_ know what Martin needs. Everything is so much better now that they understand. He lets loose in Martin’s mouth, sighing at the release of pressure. Martin chokes, piss dripping down his chin, but Tim just drives in deeper, until he’s forced to swallow or drown. 

Not that he would let Martin drown. It’s just that sometimes, it’s better not to give him a choice. 

Tim finishes with a low, satisfied groan, petting Martin’s hair. His face is wet with tears. Tim wipes them away absently. 

“You made a mess,” Tim says fondly. Martin can’t reply, seeing as his mouth is still full of Tim’s cock. Tim rocks his hips, feeling himself harden. He could use a break. Martin sniffles, but he’s already sucking, knowing what’s expected of him. “You’re such a good toy, Martin. Even if you _do_ get a bit messy.” 

Tim pushes in deeper, until Martin gags and begins to struggle uselessly. “Stop that,” Tim chides, pulling his hair sharply. “You’ll hurt yourself.” He gives Martin a few moments to adjust before sliding into his throat, moaning appreciatively at the tight clutching heat. “That’s better. _So_ much better.” 

He sets a lazy rhythm, pumping in and out of Martin’s mouth, focused more on the sensation than trying to come. After all, Martin will still be there later. That’s the beautiful thing about him. Tim pulls out, rubbing the head against Martin’s soft, pink lips. Martin’s breathing hard, his breath cool against Tim’s cock. 

“Do you want me to finish in your sweet little cunt?” Tim asks, rubbing the shaft against Martin’s cheek. “Or that beautiful arse?”

Martin’s eyes squeeze shut. “P-please, Tim, I don’t _want_ this—”

Tim slaps him across the face, and Martin whimpers, his cheek flushed a lovely pink. 

“What did I tell you about lying?” Tim asks. “I don’t like to discipline you, Martin, but I _will.”_

“M-my mouth,” Martin stammers, his breath hitching on a sob. “Y-you can f-finish in my mouth.”

Tim purses his lips, considering. “Nah.”

“But you _asked—”_

“And you’re being a silly little toy,” Tim interrupts. “Saying things you don’t mean. I think you want me _here.”_

Tim pushes his foot between Martin’s legs, grinding against his cock, and Martin gasps. Tim grins. He knows Martin so well. 

Martin isn’t small, but Tim lifts him easily, depositing him face-down against his desk. Tim has to untie Martin’s ankles to get his legs open, but Martin knows better than to try to kick. As soon as the rope is loose, Tim pries his thighs apart, rubbing his cock against Martin’s slick folds. “Fuck, you’re so _wet,”_ he says appreciatively. “I knew you would be.”

Tim pushes in with one smooth, deep thrust, making Martin gasp and arch his back. Tim rolls his hips in small circles as he adjusts. “Good boy,” he murmurs, squeezing Martin’s arse with both hands. “You take it so well.” 

He pulls out until just the tip is left inside, then slams back in again, and Martin _wails,_ fists clenching behind his back. His desperate cries are addictive, and Tim can’t resist doing it again and again, fucking him at a brutal pace, so hard his balls slap against Martin’s arse. “You gonna come for me, Martin?” he growls. “Gonna squirt all over me?”

Martin whines high in his throat, and Tim reaches down to grind his knuckles against his cock until he comes with a bitten off scream, spurting all over Tim’s hand. His cunt clamps down like a vice, milking Tim’s cock through his last few thrusts until he finally buries himself to the hilt, shooting his load as deep as he can.

Afterwards Tim collapses against Martin’s back, panting heavily. Keeping Martin satisfied is a lot of effort, but he’s up to the task. 

“If you’ll do the honors?” he asks Sasha. 

Sasha turns to the chalkboard next to her desk, and adds another tally. 

“Looks like you might beat last week’s record,” she remarks. 

“Always did like a challenge,” he replies. “Don’t you, Martin?”

Martin has gone limp against the desk, eyes staring into the distance. He doesn’t say anything.

==

Martin's curled up in his corner when Jon storms in. His hair's a mess, and his eyes are wild and unfocused. It’s the look Jon gets when he’s found another piece of the puzzle that’s come to dominate their lives. In better times Martin would have gone to make him a cup of tea, tried to soothe his nerves. Now he doesn’t dare move for fear of catching someone’s attention. The instinct is still there, though, pressing against the walls of his chest. _Go to him. Fix him._

"You alright, Boss?" Tim asks, looking up from his case file. 

Jon blinks for a moment, and the distance fades from his eyes. "I—yes. I've just...yes."

"You look stressed," Tim says. "Martin's free if you need him."

Martin looks at the floor, trying to hide his pounding heartbeat. It's best not to react when one of them gets an idea. He made the mistake of arguing with Sasha this morning, and his skin bears the marks of that lesson: red welts across his arse and his mound. They still throb when he moves. 

Jon makes an annoyed sound. "You've marked him all up."

"He was being mouthy," Sasha says, not sounding at all sorry. "You can leave your own marks if you like. I know you enjoy that."

Jon hums thoughtfully, approaching Martin's corner. "He _could_ use some new ones." 

"Exactly," Tim says. "Go ahead and have a go. It'll be good for you."

"On the desk, please."

Jon almost talks to him like he's a person, but it's out of habit, not consideration. Martin climbs to his feet, biting his lip when his bruises make themselves known. He sits on what used to be his desk, and Jon stands between his thighs, burying his face in Martin's neck and breathing deeply.

In some ways, Jon is the hardest for Martin to deal with. No matter how many times Jon hurts him, _uses_ him, he's still the man Martin fell in love with. The sight of his face still makes Martin _ache_ , and the brush of Jon's lips against his neck sends a shiver down his spine. Martin's already wet, and he hates himself for it. 

Before long, Jon's teeth close on his neck, and he whimpers high in his throat, unable to stop himself. Jon sucks at the skin until it feels raw, then finds another spot to begin anew, sighing against Martin's neck. 

Martin's naked, has been all day, so Jon has no trouble working his way down to Martin's collar bones. He cups Martin's chest, pressing his tits together, and bites down hard on one soft mound. Martin cries out, fists clenching in Jon's shirt as he licks and sucks a deep purple bruise. 

"Gorgeous," Tim praises, coming up to inspect Jon's work. He doesn't touch, because Jon can get possessive when he's in one of his moods. It's equal parts flattering and horrific, though at least they're not sharing him again. 

Martin never intended to have preferred ways to be ra— _used,_ but he takes comfort where he can get it, these days. Jon's tongue laves his nipple, tracing soft, sweet circles around the stiff little nub, before he sucks hard. Martin gasps, hips twitching against Jon's, knowing he must be leaving wet spots on his trousers. Jon isn't hard yet, won't get hard until he strokes himself, or makes Martin suck him. The sex always seems to be secondary to the marking, the claiming, though he loves watching Martin come. 

Jon's teeth worry at his nipple, setting off sparks of sharp pleasure that straddle the edge between _perfect_ and _too much_. The pain makes Martin's eyes sting with tears, and he bites his lip to keep them from falling.

If he looks over Jon's shoulder, he can see into his office, where a plain, leather-bound book sits on his desk. He can still remember the warmth of the leather under his hands as he'd picked it up. Warm as skin. He'd turned it over in his hands, looking for an author or a title. By the time he found Leitner's mark inside the front cover, Tim and Sasha were staring at him with identical expressions of want. They'd stripped him together, laughing at his struggles as if they were all playing a game.

Jon finally releases his nipple. It's covered in tiny purple-red bruises, swollen and sore. He nuzzles his way to the other side, latching onto its twin and making Martin yelp with fresh pain. Jon opens his mouth to shush him, then returns to his task. 

When Jon's finished, he pulls back to survey the pattern of bites and bruises he's left in Martin's neck and chest. Martin's nipples throb in time with his pulse. Seemingly satisfied, Jon trails his hand between Martin's thighs, making a pleased sound when he finds him soaking wet. 

"Good boy," he says gently. "Getting nice and wet for me. You must need it _badly,_ don't you?"

"Y-yes," Martin says, his voice choked with shame.

Jon’s fingers trail through the mess between his thighs. “There, there. I’ve got you.” 

“You’re going to spoil him,” Tim says, laughing. 

Martin’s breath hitches as Jon dips his fingertips just inside him, rubbing teasing circles around his entrance. It takes every ounce of his self-restraint not to pull Jon closer, to impale himself on those clever fingers. His cunt is painfully empty. Jon drops to his knees, lips grazing Martin’s folds, and Martin whimpers. 

Jon is as thorough here as everywhere else, licking his slit from top to bottom and back again, then circling Martin’s entrance. His tongue is hot and wet as it slips inside, making Martin groan and clutch the desk. He feels hot all over, and the muscles in his thighs are twitching. Jon places his palms on each thigh and pushes them further apart, licking deeper inside.

“F-fuck, Jon—” Martin whines, spine arching as Jon sucks his cock into his mouth, teeth grazing the tender flesh. “I can’t, I can’t—”

Jon growls low in his throat. Without warning, he jams two fingers into Martin’s cunt, and Martin comes with a low cry, gushing messily all over Jon’s face and hand. Jon licks and sucks him through the aftershocks even as Martin writhes and tries to escape his ministrations, pinning him down by the hips. 

_“T-too much,”_ Martin sobs, but Jon ignores his protests, crooking his fingers wickedly as he works him to a second toe-curling orgasm, moments after the first. It’s possible that Martin screams. He can’t be sure. 

The sound of a zipper brings him back to awareness. As he watches, Jon strokes himself to hardness, eyes roaming Martin’s bruised body and dripping cunt. Martin feels painfully exposed, like he’s been flayed open and served on a platter. Once he’s hard, Jon pushes into him, slowly and patiently, until their bodies are flush. The pressure on Martin’s cock makes him clamp down, and Jon moans appreciatively.

For a moment, they stay like that: Jon sheathed in Martin’s body, breathing deeply, as if savoring the sensation. His hips move against Martin’s, small rolling motions that leave him feeling so full he’s afraid he might come again before Jon’s even properly fucked him, and have to deal with the fond chuckles and teasing about how eager he is. 

Then Jon moves _,_ and it’s even worse. He always seems to know exactly where to aim his thrusts, knows how to keep Martin shaking and gasping and needy, thighs clamped around Jon’s waist as he stuffs his fist into his mouth and struggles not to fall apart. 

“How does that feel?” Jon asks softly. 

Martin knows from experience that he expects an answer, and he honestly tries to give him one, but Jon chooses that moment to grind his pelvis against Martin’s cock, and what comes out is more of a muffled scream than an answer. Jon pulls Martin’s fist out of his mouth and orders him to try again. 

“G-god, Jon—” he manages, arching his back as Jon begins to pick up speed, slamming into him with surprising strength. _“Fuck—”_

“Use your words, or I’ll stop,” Jon threatens. 

“N-no!” Martin clenches his fists by his sides, struggling to pull himself together. “It feels good, _really_ good—I don’t want you to stop—”

“A few minutes ago, you were begging him to stop,” Tim teases. 

Martin flushes hotly, shamed tears pricking at his eyelids. He hates what he’s become. He wishes he could blame it on the book, but deep down, he knows he can’t. 

“I—I’m sorry,” he says shakily. 

“Shhh, shhh, I’ve got you,” Jon croons, stroking his face. “I know we can’t expect you to make decisions like that.”

The worst part is that Jon’s softness actually makes him feel _better._ He knows it’s not real—Jon would never touch him, never talk to him like this—but these acts of tenderness have become his whole world. Tears spill down his cheeks as he feels his orgasm building, and then it breaks over him like a wave, stealing his breath as his whole body convulses, clutching at Jon like a lifeline. Jon doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down until he’s spilled inside him with a low groan, pushing in as deep as he can. 

Afterwards Jon kisses him, claiming his mouth like he has the rest of his body. His tenderness cuts through Martin like a blade, a reminder of everything he was never meant to have. 

“Feeling better?” Tim asks. 

“Much better,” Jon says, brushing his lips over Martin’s tear-stained cheeks.

==

Martin stares up at the ceiling as Sasha circles him, dragging the tip of her leather crop down his chest. He’s tied face-up on his desk, arms overhead, thighs spread as wide as they’ll go. The setup leaves him open, vulnerable; available for anyone to use. This position is one of Sasha’s favorites. 

“What did you do?” she asks, as if she were disciplining a small child. 

Martin is silent until the crop comes down hard on his inner thigh, and he yelps. “I—I was bad!”

“Be more specific,” she demands. The crop moves higher, tapping against his mound in warning.

“I...tried to escape,” he confesses, eyes squeezing shut. 

“You did,” Sasha agrees. The crop slaps against his cunt, and he cries out, struggling against the ropes. “Tell me why that’s bad.”

“B-because it’s not safe.”

“That’s right,” she says. “Anything could happen to you out there. You’re only safe with _us.”_

The worst part is, he’s starting to think it might be true. Sasha strikes him higher, on the curve of his belly, and he lets out a low whine. He’s been tied for quite a while, and his bladder is starting to protest. 

“How many lashes do you deserve?” she asks. 

“T-ten?” he says hopefully. 

She hits him harder this time, and he grunts with pain. 

“Try again.”

Martin’s eyes squeeze shut. If he guesses too high, she’ll hold him to it. If he guesses too low, she might double the number. After a long moment, he says, “...twenty?”

She taps her chin, considering. After what seems like a small eternity, she says, “I think that’ll do. For a start.”

The next blow lands across his chest, and he hisses as the leather hits his stiff nipples. Another blow lands above it, then three more in quick succession, until his eyes are watering and his chest is covered in red welts. Sasha runs her fingertips over her handiwork, smiling. 

Next she goes to his thighs, slapping thick red lines across the pale skin. Martin bites his lip, tensing against the ropes as she runs the leather tip higher, grazing his cunt. To his shame, he’s already wet. 

“Should’ve known you’d get off on this,” she says, eyeing the damp leather. 

She slaps his mound again, then taps the leather tip against his cock.

“N-no,” he says desperately. “Please—”

The leather strikes his cock, and he lets out a muffled scream. More blows rain on his belly and thighs, and he squirms, desperate to get away, until an unexpected sound cuts through: the door opening. Martin cranes his neck to see Elias, and relief floods through his body. He hasn’t seen Elias since before all this started, what seems like a lifetime ago.

“Elias!” he cries. “You have to help me! _Please!”_

Elias’s gaze slides from Martin to Sasha and back again. 

“Is there a problem?” he asks, smiling blandly. 

Martin’s heart sinks. 

“Yes,” Sasha says. “But I’m handling it.” 

She rubs the end of the crop against Martin’s cock, making him whimper. His thighs strain against the ropes in a vain effort to press together. 

“Would you like to help, Elias?”

“I suppose it can’t hurt.”

Elias’s fingers are cool against his thigh, trailing upwards until he’s stoking Martin’s folds. 

“He’s so _wet,”_ Elias says, rubbing his slick fingers together. “What did you do to him?”

Sasha chuckles. “Whipped him. It was supposed to be a _punishment.”_ She reaches up to tweak one of Martin’s nipples, and he cries out in startled pain. “So much for that.”

Elias rubs the heel of his hand against Martin’s cock, making him bite his lip hard. 

“P-please, Elias, _don’t,_ I have to—”

Ignoring him, Elias shoves two fingers straight into his cunt, crooking them in a come-hither motion that makes him gasp. His bladder feels fuller than ever, his control even more tenuous, even as his cock throbs with need. 

“S-stop, I’m going to—”

Elias doesn’t stop. Instead, he pushes another finger into him, rubbing mercilessly against the same spot. Martin’s so wet it slides right in. He pumps his fingers in and out, slowly at first, but rapidly gaining speed.

Martin’s bladder is so full it _hurts,_ and every thrust leaves him feeling weaker. “Elias, _please—”_

With his free hand, Elias presses down hard on Martin’s belly. Martin can’t help it; a few drops of piss trickle right onto Elias’s wrist. His face burns with humiliation. 

“I—I’m so sorry—please, just _stop—”_

“Give up, Martin,” Sasha says gently. “You’ll feel so much better.”

Elias slides a fourth finger into him, rubbing Martin’s cock with his thumb as he fucks him, the slick sounds so loud he’s sure Jon can hear them in his office. Tension pools low in Martin’s belly, and he knows he can’t hold on much longer. 

“You love being used, don’t you?” Elias asks, eyes locked on Martin’s. “It’s the only way you feel worthy. You’ve _always_ wanted this, wanted to be hurt and fucked like the little whore you are, because you deserve it. And really, why else would anyone want you?”

Elias presses cruelly against Martin’s cock, and he can’t contain the high whine that spills from his throat. “Are you enjoying the book, Martin? It does seem to bring out the best in your colleagues.”

Martin comes so hard he nearly blacks out, sobbing as his bladder empties itself all over Elias and the desk. Tears stream down his face, and he wants so badly to turn away, but there’s nowhere to go, no escape from Elias’s smug expression. It follows him through the blur of tears, even when his eyes squeeze shut.

He’s not sure how much time passes, but eventually Elias is gone, and someone is stroking his hair. He feels himself being untied, and someone carefully cleaning him. He can’t stop crying long enough to see who it is. 

A voice whispers in his ear, “shhhh,” and strong arms wrap around him. Another voice whispers, “It’s alright. We’ve got you.”

Martin finds himself sobbing against a firm chest, fingers carding through his hair. He’s too tired to stop himself believing them. 

==

After the incident with Elias, Martin gives up. Stops struggling, accepts whatever punishments are given to him, and lets the others do what they want. He can tell the others notice the change, but he can’t bring himself to care. One morning, he overhears Jon and Sasha arguing. 

_“...our_ boss, _we can’t just…”_

_“...shouldn’t treat him like that…”_

_“...don’t like it either, but…”_

Jon takes to keeping Martin in his office, so that anyone who wants to use him must go through Jon first. Jon likes for Martin to warm his cock while he works, his voice a pleasant drone as he murmurs to himself or makes phone calls, with Martin tucked safely under his desk. It’s easy for Martin to fade into the background, to forget he was once a person who imagined his thoughts and feelings mattered.

Martin has a lot of time to think. It’s one of the worst things about his new position. He has time to wonder, for example, exactly _what_ the Leitner did to him. Whether it unlocked some deep-seated desire in him, or if his coworkers had always…

No, he refuses to consider that train of thought. Maybe the Leitner does the same thing to everyone who touches it. But he can’t _know_ , and the sight of it on Jon’s desk drives him to distraction. 

Touching the book unlocked its curse. He hopes destroying it will rob it of its power, make everyone see sense, and give Martin his life back. 

Not that Martin had much of a life. Sleeping alone in a cot in the office, only leaving to buy cup noodles and visit the library. At least now he has a purpose. Value. A place at Jon's feet.

But it isn't real _,_ he reminds himself. Jon and Tim and Sasha don't want him like that, they only think they do. Even Elias just wanted to humiliate him. He hadn't even used him afterwards. There's no point if they don't _use_ him. 

What if touching the book again just makes things worse? Or worse, spreads the curse to someone else? Martin doesn’t have a choice, though; he has to do _something_. He's losing new pieces of himself every day.

Jon's hand stills in his hair.

"Good boy," he murmurs, making Martin flush with warmth, his mouth stretched around Jon’s cock.

==

“J-jon, _please!_ It’s too much!”

Jon shushes Martin, running a soothing hand over his hip. Sometimes Martin needs to be reminded that he can take more than he thinks. Now, for instance: Jon is sitting on his desk, Martin split over his cock, as he should be. It's tempting to just thrust up into him, to pull Martin down until he's full and squirming and gasping, to use his tight little hole until he comes. That's always satisfying.

However, patience is a virtue, and in this case, one with a hefty reward. Tim is standing behind Martin, one hand bracing himself on the desk, the other guiding his cock into Martin's wet hole. The tip is just barely prodding him, but Martin's already whining and clutching Jon's shoulders.

"Do you need our fingers first?" Jon asks gently.

On cue, Tim slides a finger in next to Jon's cock, making Martin gasp and grip Jon's shoulder. 

"You take it so well," Tim praises, working another finger into him. Martin's incredibly tight, and getting tighter. Jon breathes slowly through his mouth, forcing himself to hold still while Martin wriggles in his lap.

"You're perfect for us," Jon agrees. Martin buries his face in Jon's shoulder, smearing wetness on his shirt. He seems to do that a lot these days, the crying, though Jon can't imagine why. Jon frowns for a moment, until Tim manages to force a third finger inside, and Martin's keening in his ear.

"He's ready," Tim declares. If Martin's dripping wetness is anything to go by, he's right. 

Martin makes a strangled noise as Tim enters him, gripping Jon's shoulders. His breathing is quick and shallow, letting out little gasps every time Tim moves. After several moments, Tim is as deep as he can go, his cock nestled alongside Jon's. Martin is shaking all over, his body clutching them tight. 

"Christ, you're tight, Martin," Tim moans, moving his hips in small circles. Martin sobs, shuddering as he brushes something sensitive. They've barely even started. 

"That's it," Jon says soothingly, stroking a hand down Martin's spine. "You're being so good for us."

It's hard to fuck Martin properly at this angle, but they find a rhythm, lifting Martin by the hips before slamming him down onto their cocks. Jon relishes the noises they pull from Martin's throat, oversensitized whimpers and moans filling the air as they drive into him. 

"Are you going to come for us? For me?" Jon pants, reaching between them to stroke Martin's cock.

"J-jon—oh, god—" Martin stiffens, spine arching as he clamps down tight and comes, gushing all over Jon's lap and his thighs. 

Jon doesn't stop rubbing him, even when he's whimpering from overstimulation, and he comes again soon after, sobbing loudly as tears roll down his cheeks. The second orgasm brings Tim over the edge, swearing and spurting deep inside him.

When Tim withdraws, Jon maneuvers Martin onto his front so he can sink into him from behind. Martin’s fingers scrabble against the wooden desk as Jon finally allows himself to let go, gripping Martin’s hips for leverage so he can bury himself deeper with each thrust. Jon has nearly reached his peak when Tim asks, “Martin, what are you doing?” 

He looks up to find Martin has grabbed a book from his desk and is ripping the pages with his hands. Martin’s fingers are bleeding onto the pages as he tears through the thick paper. 

“Martin, _stop—”_ Jon demands, and then clarity rushes over him, as cold and sudden as falling through ice. 

The past few weeks flash through his mind, a cascade of images and sensations. Martin’s face as they used him for the first time, the hurt and the fear they’ve grown used to ignoring. His desperate attempts at escape. The tears on his face, tears _Jon_ put there.

Martin’s protests, ignored and dismissed: 

_P-please, I don’t want this—_

_I can’t, I can’t—_

_You have to help me! Please!_

Jon’s fingers dig into Martin’s hips as he comes, too far gone to stop himself, shuddering and biting his lip so hard it bleeds. His heart races as he stares at the ruined book. Underneath him, Martin shivers. 

Jon opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. 

"I—” He swallows around the lump in his throat, and tries again. “Oh, god, Martin. I-I'm so sorry…"

It finally occurs to him to pull out. He scrambles back, acutely aware of his nudity. A gleaming trail of come leaks down Martin’s thigh. Martin pushes himself off the desk, turning to face Jon and Tim. Tears run down his face as he looks between them, arms wrapped tightly around his chest. 

“Did it—did it work?” he asks. He looks like he might bolt at any moment.

“No. No, no, no no...” Tim whispers. His eyes are red-rimmed. “I didn’t— I don’t know what—”

“It was the book,” Martin says quietly. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

"Is there someone we can call for you?" Jon asks. Someone whose come isn’t currently dripping from Martin’s body, he means. Jon forces his gaze upwards. 

Jon knows the answer even before Martin shakes his head. Fresh guilt lances through him as Tim fetches a blanket, offering it to Martin with shaking hands. Martin stares at it for a long time before allowing Tim to drape it over his shoulders. 

"W-would you like us to leave?" Jon asks.

 _"No!"_ Martin's response is sudden and panicked, and he grabs Tim's wrist in a bruising grip. "Please. I d-don't want to be alone…"

"Can I hold you?" Tim asks softly. 

Martin nods tightly, and Tim wraps him in a careful embrace. Martin clings to his chest, shivering despite the blanket. Tim brushes Martin’s hair out of his face. "What about Jon? Would you like him as well?” 

At Martin's nod, Jon slowly approaches, laying one hand on Martin’s shoulder. Martin shudders, his entire body shaking as he sobs, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Bile rises in Jon’s throat. “Martin, _stop!_ You didn’t do anything.”

“I—I opened the book,” he says miserably. “I did this to you, to all of you. It’s all my fault—”

“We’re the ones who hurt _you,”_ Jon insists. 

“Y-you couldn’t help it,” Martin argues.

“No one blames you, Martin,” Tim says. “No one will ever blame you.” 

Something like relief passes across Martin’s face, and he buries his face in Jon’s chest. Tears stream down his cheeks, soaking Jon’s shirt as he cries, letting out weeks of grief and fear. Jon’s fingers stroke his hair out of habit, and Martin relaxes slightly against him. Tim leans close, keeping Martin cradled between their bodies. 

Jon’s eyes meet Tim’s in a look of understanding. Nothing will ever be the same between them. It can’t be. But they will do everything in their power to keep Martin safe. Even from them. 

“It’s alright, Martin,” Jon says softly. “We’ve got you.”

They hold Martin until he falls asleep, then carry him to the cot, staying near to watch over him. He doesn’t stir even once.


End file.
